


Last Night

by achievewriting



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Morning After, One Night Stands, female reader too i guess, gender neutral reader, give me trevor collins or give me death, if you like - Freeform, its basically self insert at this point so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 03:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15452364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achievewriting/pseuds/achievewriting
Summary: Sure, you’re groggy, but you’re not a living, breathing headache. You’re also not in your own bed, which prompts two diverging trains of thought: ‘Oh my god, that really happened,’ and ‘Oh my god, I let that happen.’





	Last Night

**Author's Note:**

> [a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1263129610/playlist/1nX4cxRo3nNPGSSMkMfIwQ?si=AuSHhBufRweHOTyg4UUz0w)

There’s no better time than waking up on a Sunday morning to appreciate your aptitude for avoiding hangovers. Sure, you’re groggy, but you’re not a living, breathing headache.

You’re also not in your own bed, which prompts two diverging trains of thought:  _ ‘Oh my god, that really happened,’  _ and _ ‘Oh my god, I let that happen.’ _ Though your back is turned to the only person who might see it, you hide your disbelieving and self-satisfied grin behind your hand. Basking in the smell of unfamiliar bedsheets, you roll on to your back.

Your arm brushes against against the same shoulder you’d spent a lot of last night bumping into. So much so, the owner of that shoulder had turned to you midsong to challenge you to an extremely clumsy dance-off, if your definition of a dance-off was jumping up and down and yelling the lyrics to Mr Brightside at each other. Your friends joined his, and soon after the union moved from the dancefloor to the bar. You’d been joined at the hip as the night wore on, and by the end of it, joined by a little more than just your hips.

“G’morning, stranger.”

Beside you, also on his back, his face is turned to match your lazy smile. His dark eyes are still heavy with sleep, and his hair, impeccable last night, is a mess of your own making.

“Oh, stranger, is it?” You tease, voice still thick in your dry throat.

“Well, I feel like I never properly introduced myself.” His hand appears from beneath the covers, and the handshake he presents is warm and envelopes your hand in his slender fingers. “I’m Trevor.”

You know that; you remember exclaiming his name through a laugh of disgust in the McDonalds after the club, and later moaning it into a fistful of the bedsheets you lie in now. Nonetheless, you laugh and play along, “[Y/N], pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

“Oh, trust me, it wasn’t  _ all _ yours.” Bottom lip caught gently between your teeth, you quirk an eyebrow and pray it comes across as cheeky, rather than creepy. Relief comes with the way his eyes crease at the sides as he represses a laugh, and you melt at the dimples at either end of his grin.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he smirks, “I think your friends had a lot of fun out-drinking Jeremy and Alfredo.” The short silence that follows isn’t awkward or empty, but warm and light with the aftertaste of laughter. Under the covers, Trevor shifts his legs; it’s not much more than a bend of his knees, a slight twist of his hips, but it’s enough that you can now feel the warmth of his bare skin against your own. The comfort and delight the simple contact brings you both surprises you and makes you nervous.

You roll onto your side—ever so slightly closer, but Trevor doesn’t seem to mind—as you smooth your hair behind your ear. “So, you work with those guys, right?”

You spend a while chatting softly, voices bouncing gently off the walls lit by the mid morning sun through the blinds. You watch Trevor, this unexpected new person who you’re doing your best not to immediately fall in love with, and find it hard to focus when he becomes animated as he talks about his work, or laughs when you reiterate some other nightly antics you’ve found yourself in. You forget about your phone, no doubt in the pocket of your jeans, lying somewhere between Trevor’s bed and the front door. The last your friends saw of you was getting in an Uber hand-in-hand with Trevor, and right now you remain blissfully unaware of the one-sided interrogation being conducted in the group chat.

There’s a pause in conversation after you finish discussing your opinions on Solo: A Star Wars Story. It strikes you suddenly how strange it is to be lying in bed half naked with someone you’ve known for less than twenty four hours, debating pop culture like it’s second nature, like it’s something the two of you have done together for years. “I - uh, I don’t usually do this.” You gesture between your bodies.

“Me neither.” 

If you’d learned anything from the movies, it’s that it’s weird to stick around after a one night stand. That you should have been up and gone before the sun rose, heels in hand and sentiments in the wind. But the way Trevor’s eyes, soft and honest and maddeningly honey-brown, linger on your face with his quiet words gives you butterflies, and the idea of getting out of his bed seems ridiculous. “Would it be weird if I kissed you right now?”

“I think it’d be weird if you didn’t,” he offers. Blush colours the points of his cheekbones.

You lean over, and his hands find your waist. Just for a second, you have to pause. You can’t stop the thought that comes:  _ ‘I really like you.’ _  Despite the little time you’ve had, the thought went beyond the physical. You’d talked for an easy hour or two beneath the outdoor lights of the club, the beer you’d shared turned warm and flat well before the two of you were dragged out for food. Even in the midst of losing a game of chubby bunny with chicken nuggets to Alfredo, he managed to charm the pants off you, literally; if that didn’t put you off, you’re sure there’s little else that could. You smile at the thought, and feel Trevor do the same when your lips meet his.

It’s nothing like the bruising, hungry kiss you had shared as you tumbled through his front door last night, or even the heavy, half-sighed kisses you’d pressed clumsily to each other’s mouths as you both reached the high you’d chased together. It’s simple and soft, but it makes your heart race all the same. You wonder if Trevor can feel your wild pulse when he cups your jaw like it’s made of glass; the quickening rhythm you can feel under your hand laid lightly on his chest makes you smile again into the warmth of his lips.

You stay like that for a little while, all gentle touches and soft sighs, and you find yourself thinking you’d be content to do just this for days, weeks. The cozy smouldering in your chest is on the verge of flaring into something hotter, more carnal, when Trevor pulls away with a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“[Y/N], I’m so sorry, but I have had to pee for like half an hour now.” The sheepish grin he sports matches the apology in the upturn of his eyebrows.

“Oh my god!” You laugh, and push his shoulder towards the edge of the bed, “Go!” You watch him stand and swipe a shirt off the floor, and do your best to commit to memory the flex of his abdomen and arms as he pulls it over his head. “You look good in white.”

Trevor ducks his head, but it does nothing to hide the touch of colour that graces his cheeks. When he looks back up at you, he’s confident again. “Clearly you haven’t seen me in a shirt made of pudding,” he says matter-of-factly, then disappears through the bedroom door.

“ _ What _ ?” you call, “No, you can’t just walk away! What do you mean pudding?!” You’re sitting up now, sheets gathered to your chest as you gape at the empty doorway in confusion.

Trevor reappears with a grin that stretches from ear to ear, his fingers drumming a quick rhythm on the doorframe. “Let me make you breakfast and I’ll explain over coffee.”

“Give me your number and you’ve got a deal.”

“Like I wasn’t going to let you leave without it anyway.” He winks, and he’s gone again.

As soon as Trevor’s back is turned, you collapse into the mattress, lightheaded and giddy with the beginning of the best Sunday you’ve had in a long time. You borrow a t-shirt, he cooks a mean omelette; you talk for hours, you kiss for hours, make love again on his sofa, and talk some more. You leave with Trevor’s number as promised, plans for a date in a weeks time, and the feeling that something good is just beginning.


End file.
